


Wet

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bedwetting, Comfort, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:21:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some key elements to a perfect morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

There are some key elements to a perfect morning.

Waking up in a mess of sheets and your own piss is not exactly one of them. Especially not when said mess is right next to your fiancée, sleeping soundly and having no idea of what she has to wake up to—piss-stained sheets, her fiancé’s panting and silent methods of freaking out.

He’ll have to nudge her awake. It’s five thirty-two in the morning and he has to wake her up with something this absolutely fucking ridiculous. He feels like he’s five years old all over again, but this time, there is no Wes to waddle to and cry to and to change the sheets for him.

Soul gently presses Maka’s shoulder, nearly cries when she grunts and nestles deeper into her pillow. He prods her again, with a little more urgency.

“Maka.”

She whines out a sleepy noise—he already feels miserable. “What is it?”

He’s trying to push her up, just to get her off the bed for thirty seconds, really! “Gotta get up, just for a sec,” he whispers, but Maka only rolls over—

Pales. Stares. Doesn’t protest again, only gets up to her feet and helps him get the pillows off the bed. Doesn’t look at his wet pajama pants, only helps him strip the sheets off the bed and fist her hands in her (his) nightshirt as they both trod into the laundry room and he stuffs their bed linens in the washing machine.

“Are you going back to sleep?” She asks in a small voice as he measures out soap.

He shakes his head punctually as he pours the soap in, turns to the cabinet behind him to dig out new sheets for the bed and the spare mattress pad.

Maka puts a hand on his arm, and only then does he actually feel the embarrassment burning in the back of his throat.

“Just get changed,” she hides a yawn with a little smile, “and I’ll make you something to drink.”

Soul nods again, hands her the sheets as he shuffles back down the hall to change out of his soaking pants. Maka sets the sheets back (neither of them are going back to bed) and makes her way out to the kitchen, starts on a kettle of tea, just because she doesn’t think he’ll want coffee after getting so riled up.

She’s dealt with him having nightmares before (she considers them to be more night terrors than anything, but she digresses), but nothing this severe—he generally just tosses and turns and wakes up with a yelp or two, but he generally can settle down enough to go back to bed and stay asleep long enough to piss her off with how late he can sleep in. This time, she just feels bad, embarrassed for him, as she pours tea into two mugs and adds a little honey. She hears him padding back out into the kitchen, but she ushers him to sit on the sofa with her instead, handing him his mug and making sure to give him space—it’s generally better to start sitting far away when he’s in a mood like this, and slowly make her way towards giving him some hugs.

Soul huddles around his mug, curls in on himself and it makes him look like a frightened child. It’s a little sad, and Maka is quiet as she tries to think of something to tell him, or ask him, or  _something_.

“I haven’t done that since I was a little kid,” he admits to his cup of tea, blatantly avoiding looking Maka’s way. He thinks she’s  _upset_  with him, that she’s going to  _yell_  at him for something he has absolutely no control over. She feels awful.

“At least it wasn’t blood?” She tries to smile. “I’ve had to sneak plenty of bloody sheets past you.”

Soul’s nose scrunches up. “You were  _there_.” He starts mumbling, things like “oh my god” and “so fucking _embarrassing_ ” as he lowers his head, down, down, down with shame.

Maka decides he’s a little too embarrassed and upset to be huddled all by himself, and sets her mug down in order to scoot next to him, pull small arms around him and rest her cheek on his shoulder. He turns to give her a little look, and Maka just hugs him tighter, makes sure he knows he’s okay, everything’s okay.

“It was just an acc—“

“ **Please**  don’t finish that sentence.”

She stops taking, and Soul sighs quietly. She’s not very good with communicating through silence, not like Soul is, and still feels like there’s something she needs to be telling him so this can all be over and done with, but she usually ends up running her mouth until he gets angry.

Soul fills up the silence first.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and avoids looking at her again. “For not, freaking out or anything.”

“You did enough of that for the both of us,” Maka answers, rubbing his back with one smooth palm and finding comfort in the fact he’s taken to leaning into her; she’s his safehouse. “Besides,” she adds, “if it were the other way around, you’d be taking good care of me, y’know.”

He snorts, but nods his head a little, and moves to set his mug down next to hers in order to properly turn himself towards her and give her a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re just the best,” he sighs quietly into her shirt, and Maka laughs as she continues rubbing his back.

“Maybe second-best.”

“Nah,  _best_.”

She laughs again. “If you say so.”

They sit together in a hug like that for quite awhile, until Maka’s eyelids begin to betray her and she has to keep shaking her head to stay awake. The red-gold sunlight from the summer morning begins to pour through the slits in the blinds, casting light-stripe patterns on the wood floor.

“Sleepy?” He asks when she goes a little limp in his arms, but she can hear the remorse in his tone.

Maka nods, her eyes closed, and sighs softly. “Just lemme rest my eyes a sec.”

She tries to protest when Soul lays her down the length of the couch and covers her up with the obnoxiously-orange afghan, but finds sleep has lulled her into its depths. She manages a kiss to his jaw, and tells him to knock it off when he tells her he’s sorry, before he leaves her entirely, and she merely rolls over and returns to sleep.

When she wakes up, at a disgusting eleven forty-three in the morning (more like afternoon), Soul is doing a new load of laundry, and they spend a good time wrestling the new sheets on the bed only to mess up when Soul initiates a brutal tickle war on top of.


End file.
